Understanding is in the Eye of the Beholder
by Dakota-Jones
Summary: When Skittery is beaten severely and taken in by a well to do couple for healing, can he break the barriers and teach them the real New York, or will he even let them help him at all? And what dark secrets will be uncovered alond the way? *COMPLETED*
1. Discoveries

Disclaimer: If I owned newsies, I wouldn't be sitting here writing fanfiction, would I?

AN: Added a couple new characters, Terrence and Annie. They're a filthy rich middle aged couple, but don't judge their status too quickly- they're pretty cool people.

Summary: When Skittery is beaten and practically dead on the street, he is taken in by a couple who doesn't understand him at all. Will he be able to show them the _real_ New York life, or will he even let them help him at all?                        

Terrence

            He was there every morning. Rain or shine, hail or wind, he was standing on the corner, ready to hand me my morning paper. I'd never seen a smile on his face, but then, a lot of the newsies didn't smile anymore. On top of that, his light brown hair always seemed to be messy and caked with filth. Every morning it was the same conversation, one I could play over in my head word for word at will.

            _"Good morning, Mr. Thurston."_

_            "Good morning. One paper, please."_

_            "Of course, sir. That'll be a penny."_

_            I fish through my wallet, then pull out a nickel and press it into his ink stained hand, taking the paper and smiling. "Keep the change, kid. You'll need it."_

_            "Thanks."_

It wasn't anything special, nothing out of the ordinary. I had taken a liking to this particular newsboy, and no matter how grim, sick, or depressed he seemed, I enjoyed seeing the familiar face every morning. Maybe letting him keep the change every morning made me feel as if my high status were more justified. Or maybe I just enjoyed seeing his hazel eyes, which looked so much like my son's, light up at the thought of actually being able to eat lunch that day.

            The other newsboys call him 'Skittery'. I have a bad habit of looking at him and, at least inside my head, calling him Blake, the name of my son who had died one year ago to pneumonia.

            The morning of December 3rd started out as nothing special, just another day that I was headed to Central Park for my walk. It wasn't as chilly as it had been recently, but still a light snow had fallen, coating everything in the gentle white powder. I huddled down further into my long coat, hoping to prevent myself from catching cold. _You have to find a Christmas present for Annie today, _I reminded myself. But Christmas just hadn't been the same without Blake around, even though he _was a teenager and never satisfied with what we got for him._

            I rounded the corner and was stunned to notice that Skittery wasn't standing there, a stack of papers in his hand, yelling out fake headlines to entice ignorant buyers. In fact, I didn't see him anywhere in the general area. My first thought was that he could be sick, but then I remembered the last time he had been ill- he had one of his friends right at his side, the one called Kid Blink, ready to hold him up or steady him if he fell. I could tell he wasn't faking it that day, so I gave him a quarter for one paper.

            I got to his selling spot, and immediately noticed something strange; three newspapers lying on the ground, one of them torn to pieces. I knew something was seriously wrong then- no newsboy in his right mind would leave two perfectly good papers laying on the ground. I pushed the first paper aside and looked at the second one, immediately gasping in horror: it was covered in blood. I looked around on the ground and noticed a trail of blood leading into a nearby alley, and after only a moments hesitation, I rushed into the darkened path.

            I could make out the shadowy figure lying on the ground, just barely. I rushed to the still form, rolling him over and my insides beginning to churn as I felt how cold his skin was. It was Skittery, with cuts and bruises all over him and a gash on the side of his face. I didn't need to check his pulse to know that he was alive- he was shivering violently, though unconscious and as pale as the snow that was falling around us.

            I had a choice to make. I could leave him here and let the other newsboys find him or let him succumb to the elements, or I could rush him back to my house, call a doctor, and try to save him. Annie wouldn't be pleased, not with me bringing home a dirty street orphan who was probably a carrier of every disease or bug in the city. But a surge of anger came over me as I considered the most pertinent question: who did this? I clenched my fists and gritted my teeth in anger as I thought of the possibilities. _Nobody_ messes with_ my _newsie and gets away with it.

            I gently reached under him and picked him up, cringing as he moaned in pain. He could've come to at any time, but I was hoping that he wouldn't do anything rash, like panic or lash out, if he did. I was shocked at how light he was; he was a tall boy, but couldn't weigh any more than a girl of around his age. I could easily carry him.

            I laughed quietly aloud as I thought about one thing that could cost me my neck; how was I going to explain this to Annie? 


	2. Arguments

AN: Just r+r people- I need the encouragement!

            Also, I'm going to an acting+theater camp for two weeks as of 6-15, so I won't be adding again until 6-29. However, I'll finish the story while I'm there, so expect a HUGE update when I get back! 

            It only took a few minutes to get back to my home, and Joseph's eyes got as big as saucers when I walked up to the gates. He dropped his snow shovel and opened the gate for me, stuttering incredulously before finally forming a full sentence.

            "Who is this, sir? Is he dead?"

            I shook my head. "He's a newsboy. No, he's not dead, but he will be if you don't fetch a doctor right now."

            "Me, sir?"

            "Yes, you! Who did you think I was talking to, William Hearst? Go!"

            He nodded furiously as he turned around and ran out the gate, practically tripping over his own feet. I carefully adjusted the boy's weight in my arms, trying not to hurt him as I opened the door and slipped inside. Luck would have it that Annie had chosen that one day to wake up early, but she was sitting on the couch facing away from the door.

            "Back so early, Terrence?" she asked, sipping on her coffee as her eyes skimmed the pages of her newest novel. I took a deep breath, then headed straight for the couch.

            "Get up, Annie. And get some blankets." I demanded, and when she looked up from her book, she just about dropped her mug.

            "What in heaven's name is going on? Who is that?" She asked in a panic, standing up and putting her book and cup on the table.

            "Just go get those blankets. Some bandages too, and hot water."

            "Terrence Andrew Anderheim, if you don't-"

            "Annie, please." I started, pleading with her as I set him down on the couch. He was quickly becoming feverish. "I'll explain everything later. Just help me out and go get what I asked for."

            She looked at me carefully, a mixture of anger, confusion, and pity on her face. Then she growled and threw her hands up in the air in frustration, muttering about 'not knowing what to do with me' as she jogged up the stairs. I pulled a blanket off the back of the couch, laying it over him and fidgeting nervously as I waited for her to return.

            A sudden realization hit me like a train; this was the very same room that Blake had died in those many years ago. If it was simply a curse that brought that upon us, there was no hope for this boy.

            I felt his forehead once again as Annie walked down the stairs, a stack of blankets and a first aid kit in one hand and a bucket of hot water with a 2 washcloths draped over the side in the other. _She'll understand. Why wouldn't she? _

            "Do I need to go find a doctor?" she asked, her voice lightening up a bit.

            "No, Joseph just went to get one." I started to speak again, but Skittery moaned and we both

stopped, thinking he may wake up: but he didn't. He fell back into unconciousness, his body going limp once again. I took one of the washcloths and pressed it against his head, trying to stop the bleeding from the cut along the side of his face.

            "How did this happen?" Annie asked, brushing the newsboys hair away from his face, almost tenderly.

            "I don't know. I found him like this in an alley. Could've been anybody: thieves, thugs, other newsboys."

            She fell silent again, just as Joseph opened the door for the doctor. He rushed over to Skittery, looking over his injuries before motioning for us to leave. I reluctantly stood up and led my wife into the adjoining kitchen.

            "So are you going to start a habit of bringing deathly ill newboys into our house?" Annie asked, a hint of annoyance in her voice. 

            "He was going to die. What did you want me to do, leave him lying there?"

            "That's what anyone else would have done! But no, you have to be different. You have to be the good Samaritan. Why couldn't you just leave it be? He'll end up dead from some other street accident or disease anyway!"

            I felt a choking rage rising in my throat. "Well, if some _good__ Samaritan had brought Blake to us an hour earlier, __he wouldn't have died, now would he?" _

            "This boy has no family! He's an orphan, for God's sake!"

            "There are still people who love him, Annie! If we hadn't been there, that wouldn't have changed the way Blake's friends felt about his death, would it?"

            "Would you stop comparing this boy to Blake? Because he's not! As much as you wish it were true, _he's never coming back_, Terrence!"

            Annie stormed out of the room, slamming the door in a bigger fit of rage than I'd ever seen her in. I swallowed down the lump in my throat and resisted the urge to just sit down and cry, instead turning and walking back into the sitting room where the doctor was still working on applying bandages to Skittery's wounds. Joseph was still standing dumbfounded in the kitchen, probably wondering who he could follow without getting killed.

            "How is he?" I asked, startling the disheveled looking old man. We had probably woken him up with this fiasco.

            The doctor snorted, tying off another bandage. "Not good, but he'll live, if that's what you're wondering. He'll need a lot of recovery time, so I hope you've got a more convincing argument for your wife. If you're really desperate to help him, he's going to be here for a couple of weeks, maybe more if he's fever gets worse."

            I blushed at the thought that a complete stranger had overheard that argument, but the doctor didn't mention it again. Instead, he told me how often to change the bandages, what to give him to eat, and that he probably would wake up later that day and that I needed to stay home with him for a few days. Then he left, grumbling something about 'street kids always causing problems'.

            I looked down at my new 'patient', if he could even be called that. He was still trembling, but not half as bad as when I'd brought him in.

            "Well, Skittery…I hope you're ready for this, because I don't think I'll ever be." I said as I headed back to the bedroom, where Annie had stormed off to. This was certainly going to be interesting, to say the least. 

AN: Just wait until Skittery wakes up- then the real fun starts!


	3. Reconciliation

AN: I'm back! Camp was great, if anyone cares, and I am soooo ready to get back to writing. So here's the next installment! R+R!

            Oh, and I kinda lied…It ended up that Skittery isn't waking up in this chapter, but definitely the next one. I promise!

            Annie had the door locked, and wasn't about to let me in, not even to talk things over. I told Joseph to not worry about things, just to go back to his chores. I went back out to the sitting room, pulling up a chair beside the sofa and beginning to read a book I'd been meaning to read to a long time but never had the guts to: Blake's diary.

            I felt like a nosy, annoying father, reading his diary even though he wasn't there to get mad at me for it. I flipped through it, then took a deep breath and turned to the last entry.

            _Sometimes I wonder why I even bother. Straight A's, college acceptances, friends in high places, a supposedly perfect girlfriend…I just can't do enough for him. I think I'll have to have my Harvard degree before he actually admits he's proud of me. All these fancy gifts, they don't mean a thing, and he doesn't get it._

I stopped there. I couldn't go any further. All his emotions, his deepest thoughts, were layed out right there in black and white. He thought I wasn't proud of him. He actually thought I wasn't proud of him. Did I ever tell him? I had to have told him. No father can go through 17 years of his son's life without ever telling him that he was proud…could he? 

            I took a deep breath, reaching forward and laying my palm on Skittery's forehead. His fever was worse than it had been- he was sweating and yet also chilling, shivers running through his body. I swallowed hard, and then forced my eyes back to the faded pages of the journal.

            _Running_ _away might help. Hell, if there's any message that's strong enough to reach him, that would be it. That or suicide, but that's a coward's way out. I love him, I really do, but I'm so restless. I'm ready to start my life, to do something drastic and actually have a life worth living._

_            I checked the train times earlier today. And that nine o'clock train to Chicago isn't leaving the station without me._

He was going to run away. I couldn't believe it. The book dropped to the floor as my hands began shaking uncontrollably. 

            "What's his name?"

            I jumped in surprise, spinning around in the chair to face Annie. I picked up the book and nonchalantly set it on the table as I cleared my throat. "What?"

            "Well, he does have a name, doesn't he?"

            "Oh, yes. Of course. His name is Skittery."

            "Skittery? You're kidding me, right?"

            "No, that's what the other newsboys call him."

            She walked slowly to the couch, sitting on the edge of it beside the boy. She then reached out, carefully feeling his forehead. "He has a fever."

            "The doctor said he may run a fever the first few days. It may turn into…mild pneumonia." I saw her cringe, and quickly went on to say, "But nothing bad. He said the boy will live. But he won't fully recover for quite a time."

            "How much time?"

            I took another deep breath, ready for an even worse tongue lashing than before. "A couple of weeks. Maybe more, depending on how the fever runs."

            She was silent for a moment, her eyes on Skittery's face the whole time. I waited nervously, watching her eyes change from confusion, to apprehension, to determination. She opened her mouth, and for a moment no words came out. When she did finally speak, I was stunned. "Well then, I must be stopping by Christine's to see if she'll come and help me clean him up. And I need to stop by some shops on the way back to pick up some soup and bandages- he's going to be absolutely famished when he wakes up. And when I get back, I'll watch him while you go find his lodging house and tell his friends where he is."

            My mouth was hanging open in shock. "So, you're not-"

            "Terrence, as you said, he needs our help. And I must be going if I expect to get to the shops before they close."

            With that, she stood up and walked to the door, grabbing her coat and walking outside with her head held high, calling at Joseph to bring the carriage around. As the door closed behind her, I smiled. I knew she would understand. 

  


	4. Awakenings

AN: Just r+r! Pretty please?

            Annie had only been gone about ten seconds before Skittery began to come to. His breathing became less even, and his eyes fluttered open and slowly began to focus. As soon as he became aware of his surroundings he shot upright, but then cried out in pain and I slowly pushed him back onto the sofa. There was a good chance he had a few broken ribs, and that harsh movement couldn't have helped.

            "Just relax. Don't try to move."

            He looked up at me with genuine fear in his eyes, but that didn't last more than a split second before confusion and anger took over. "Where am I?" He demanded, ignoring my suggestion and trying once again to sit up. I pushed him back down, a little more forcefully this time.

            "You're in my home, and you're hurt pretty bad, so I suggest that you do not move." 

            He tried to take a few deep breaths, but was met with pain with each breath and failed miserably. "What happened?" He muttered, calming down just a bit.

            "I wish I knew. I found you in an alley. Looks like somebody beat you up pretty bad. Don't you remember?"

            He shook his head, then shoved my hand off his shoulder and pushed himself up into a sitting position, much slower than before. I didn't try to stop him this time- if he was stubborn enough to try it a third time, then I'd let him find out for himself how much it was going to hurt.

            "I gotta go back." He said, but his voice was weak and unsteady. I immediately realized what was about to happen, and I caught him as he fell backward and gently set him down. He reached up and found the bandage on his face, looking very surprised.

            "You aren't going anywhere, young man. Not until you've recovered a bit. So you may as well lay back and relax."

            He groaned, holding his head and muttering something that I didn't quite catch. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, and then said, "I gotta sell tomorrow. I's broke."

            "You can't even sit up, let alone walk down the street for 12 hours screaming the headlines. We're going to take care of you here. Don't worry about the money."

            "But-"

            "No buts. You are staying right here, and you are not moving until I feel you are able to. Now, which lodging house do you stay at, and who's in charge of it?"

            He hesitated, staring up at the ceiling as he struggled to stay awake. "Lower Manhattan. Kloppman's in charge, but youse might wanna talk ta Jack Kelly instead."

            "Lower Manhattan, Jack Kelly. Don't worry, I'll let them know."

            "Could ya…could ya do me a favor?"

            "Anything."

            "Don't tell 'em I got beat up. Just tell 'em I's sick. I don't want 'em to know until I know who did it."

            I considered the request for a moment, and then I decided that it couldn't hurt. I could understand why he wouldn't want to look weak in the face of his friends. "Alright. I won't tell them." I said, but by the time I said it, he was already fallen back into unconsciousness. "Poor kid." I muttered, settling back down and picking up Blake's journal off the table.

AN: Yay! He woke up! _Hugs Skittery tightly…._ Next chapter, Terrence meets 'the guys'!


	5. Dark Secrets and Meetings

AN: Alright, time to introduce Terrence to 'the guys'- and bring out a dark secret. Thanks to all my reviewers!

            I was a little bit nervous that evening leaving Annie alone with Skittery- if he woke up and tried to leave, she wouldn't be able to stop him. I could only hope he was smart enough to stay put.

            I got to the lodging house at around nine o'clock, hesitating and taking a good look at the slums surrounding it. How these children survived in these conditions I'll never know. I took off my hat, wringing it in my hands before stepping through the door. 

            The front room was occupied by about eight of the newsboys sitting around a table playing poker, a dark haired boy dealing out another hand. A stack of pennies was in the center of the table, and I wondered how many meals that one stack would-or wouldn't- pay for.

            What surprised me most was how cheerful the boys seemed- they were all laughing and chatting like any of my colleagues and I would do at the poker table.

            The dealer finally noticed me and set the deck down, his face jolting into confusion. "Whadda we got heah, guys?" he asked, and quite suddenly, all eyes were on me. 

            "I need to speak with Jack Kelly." I said quietly, still turning my hat in my hands. The Italian boy stared me down mercilessly. It was as if he knew me and had some reason to dislike me.

            "Dere ain't no one heah by dat name. Beat it." Another boy said, the one with the eye patch. The boys began to turn back to their game one by one as I stood in the doorway, mouth agape.

            "Skittery told me to ask for him."

            All attention was back on me, and a few of the boys stood up. A dark skinned newsies with brown, curly hair stepped forward. "How do you know Skitts? Where is he?" he demanded, seeming more concerned than angry now.

            I shifted my weight nervously, realizing that these boys were ready to beat me severely if I didn't tell them everything. "I can't say anything to anyone except Jack Kelly. Could you please tell me where he is? It's urgent."

            The dealer snorted. "Anything dat's urgent wit Skitts is for all of us ta hear. I suggest you spill it before we beat it outta ya."

            "Racetrack, calm down." Someone said from the stairs, and I turned to face an older newsie with a bandana tied around his neck. He met my gaze, but didn't smile. "I'm Jack Kelly. Now what did ya need ta tell me?"

            I walked to him, keeping one eye on the other boys as they sat ready to interfere. I got close enough for Jack to hear, hoping that the others wouldn't overhear. "Skittery is very sick. He almost died today. I took him to my home, but he's too weak to be doing any selling anytime soon."

            Jack's face contorted in surprise, then in anger, then into sadness. He looked up at the others, who were waiting for the 'verdict'. "I gotta tell them. This ain't something that should be kept from them."

            "If you think you should, then go ahead."

            He walked slowly over to the table, dragging his feet as if the floor were covered in molasses. He spoke to them briefly, telling them basically what I had told him. I couldn't believe how much these boys were affected by hearing this- I figured that things like this happened all the time on the streets. 

            "What can we do?" Racetrack asked, and Jack looked at me expectantly. 

            "There really isn't much you can do. He'll need a couple of weeks to recover. He may not sell again for a month. He's running a pretty bad fever."

            The boy with the eye patch took a deep breath, looking around the table at everyone. "Can we run shifts?"

            "What?"

            Jack took over from that. "Good idea, Blink." He turned to me, a sparkle of hope in his eyes. "Can we send someone down there during the day to keep him company and help out?"

            I stuttered a moment, remembering that Skittery didn't want anyone knowing that he'd been beaten up. How was he going to hide it if he had someone there every day? I shook my head cautiously. "I really don't think that'd be a good idea. He needs his rest."

            Jack laughed. "And you actually expect him to stay put for two weeks waitin to get bettah? Believe me, you're gonna need our help when it comes to that."

            He was right; I'd admit that much. There was no backing out now, and this was another thing Annie would hate me for. "Fine. But how are you going to keep earning money selling papers if you're doing that as well?"

            Jack smiled. "We look out for each other around heah. So where do you live?"

            "The Thurston mansion down on 17th. You know where that is, don't you?"

            Suddenly Blink and Racetrack and the dark-skinned newsie paled about ten shades. I saw them all three look at each other with helplessness, and then they bolted for the stairs. Jack spun around, confused but only waiting a split second to follow them, shouting, "Blink, Mush, Racetrack! What's wrong wit you guys?!"

            An uncomfortable silence followed as everyone found something on the floor to take a great interest in. I looked from boy to boy, hoping to see someone who even remotely looked like they had an explanation.

            Quite suddenly, the sound of horses' hooves was heard outside and Joseph ran in, out of breath and looking quite annoyed. "Sir, you have to come back to the house immediately." He insisted, grabbing my sleeve.

            "Why? What happened?"

            "The boy locked himself in the kitchen and won't come out. He's deathly afraid we're going to kill him or something like that! He's threatening to slit his own throat if we try to get in!"

            "Why?!"

            "I don't know! He was talking to Annie, and she told him where he was, that's all!"

            "What were her exact words, Joseph?"

            "She said something like, 'You're in the Thurston mansion, not far from the lodging house.' I don't know why he got so upset!"

            I spun around to the other boys in a fury. "What's going on here? How do you boys know me?!"

            "We don't know _you_," Mush suddenly said from the stairs, "But…we knew Blake."

            I felt my throat tighten in a mix of anger and utter denial. "How did you know my son?"

            It was a moment before the other boys followed him down the stairs, and he sighed deeply. "Your son…Blake…he was a friend of Skittery's."

            Racetrack took over where Mush had left off. "He…he wanted to kill himself. He said that if Skittery didn't stab him, he'd do it himself. But Skittery told him about the train leavin for Chicago, even offered to buy him a ticket if he just wouldn't kill himself. But Blake didn't wanna hear any of it. He stalked off and, well…dat was da last we saw of him."

            I felt the world spinning around me. They were wrong, they had to be. Blake wouldn't treat a supposed friend like that. And he certainly wouldn't consort with street trash like this. It was all a lie.

            "You're LYING!" I screamed, backing up to the doorway even though I had no intention of leaving. Joseph had backed up to one wall, probably fearing for his life.

            "We ain't got no reason to lie to you, mister. And dat would be a pretty cheap lie to tell."

            "He wouldn't do that…he wouldn't…"

            "Just ask Skittery. He's still got the scar from where Blake slashed his arm open dat night." Blink said, angrier than the others.

            "NO!"

            I spun around and ran out the door, jumping into the carriage that Joseph had brought. He jumped in the front seat, but wasn't able to take off before Mush jumped in front of the horses.

            "Get out of the way!" Joseph yelled, ready to snap the reins and just have the horses trample him. 

            "I'm coming with you! I ain't havin Skittery alone dere, and he won't trust any of you people!"

            Joseph looked back at me, ready to take my judgment even though my blood was boiling with rage. I looked at the determined boy, ready to receive death at my horses' feet, and at the other newsboys, a few being held back by others.

            "Fine. Get in. As long as you get that scum out of my household."

            Mush nodded to the others and whispered something to Blink and Jack before pulling himself up into the carriage. I avoided even looking at him as we started moving down the narrow roads to my home.    


	6. The Price of Protection

AN: Wow, that last chapter was rough. Keep reviewing, people!

            The ride to the mansion was long and uncomfortable. Mush just kept his eyes glued on the window, his hands gripping the edge of the seat in a white knuckled death grip. I suppose he may have been afraid of me. Hell, if I were in his place, I'd be scared, too.

            The diary. Blake had mentioned getting on the train to Chicago, and he'd been found within a mile of the station, which was a long way from our home. It hadn't seemed like anything then- we'd assumed he'd gotten lost.

            I looked up at the boy who was now biting his lower lip nervously, shivering noticeably in the bitter cold but obviously trying to hide it. He had been wearing only socks this whole time, and was only wearing shorts and a light undershirt otherwise. I took off my thick trench coat and offered it to him, and he stared at it suspiciously a moment before hesitantly reaching out and taking it.

            "Thank you." He muttered, wrapping it around himself tightly and rocking back and forth to try and stay warm. I remembered one night when Blake had forgotten his coat because it wasn't that cold, and then while we were in the party, weather took a turn for the worst. In fact, Mush was sitting in the same spot that Blake had been when I offered that same coat to him, and the guttural 'thank you' I got had the same ring of suspiciousness in it. Could it have been that my son was really that much of a stranger to me?

            I shook my head, trying to clear my brain of such thoughts. That was ludicrous. These boys couldn't possibly know my son better than I did. After all, I'd known him for 17 years, and they couldn't have known him for more than a few. 

            We pulled up to the house and Mush jumped out of the carriage before I did, sniffing and then sneezing violently. _He's going to catch his death of cold out here, _I thought before leading him to the door and opening it for him. He immediately hung up my coat by the door, and then went straight for the kitchen door.

            _He knows where the kitchen is. He couldn't possibly have known, unless…unless he'd been in my home before._

"Skittery? Skitts? It's me, Mush. Come on out. I'm takin youback." Mush said, carefully leaning against the door. When no response came, his face became laced with concern. I put my arm around Annie, who was standing a good distance from the door and sobbing.

            "Skittery, I'm comin in. Just me, no one else, ya here? Don't pull anything stupid." 

            Mush pushed the door open just wide enough for him to slip in, and Annie looked up at me anxiously. "I didn't know what to do, Terrence, and when he wouldn't answer…I thought…"

            "Ssshh…everything will be fine. Just calm down. It's okay…I'm here now."

            Her forehead wrinkled in thought. "What did that boy mean, he was 'taking him back'?"

            "Skittery is going back to the lodging house. He can't stay here."

            At that moment Mush pushed the door open with his back, an unconscious Skittery limp in his arms. Annie rushed forward, looking him over. "Is he alright?" she asked Mush.

            "He's fine. Looks like he just passed out." He replied, laying Skittery down on the couch. "But it looks like he's more than _sick_, Mr. Thurston. What didn't you tell us?"

            I lifted my chin in the air, insulted that he would be asking questions of _me_ at a time like this. "He told me that he didn't want the other newsboys to know. I was honoring his request."

            Mush took a few deep breaths, rubbing his most-likely-numb hands together. "Can I borrow a blanket so he doesn't freeze on the way back?" he asked quietly, a shudder running a course all the way through his body. _He's worried about Skittery freezing out there when he should be asking to borrow a pair of shoes, _I thought.

            Annie was appalled. "Neither of you boys are going anywhere tonight! You yourself are not in any shape to be walking back, let alone carrying him!"

            "I'm sorry, ma'am, but your husband wants us 'street scum' out of his house. I'm only honoring _his _request." He said, the first time I'd actually heard a hint of annoyance in his voice.

            "Terrence, what is going on here? You were the one who wanted to help him in the first place!"

            I stood on the edge between anger and pity for one more moment before I decided that I had to protect my wife. No matter what, she couldn't know about Blake. "Nonsense. I was certainly not serious when I said that. You are both staying right here at least until the morning."

            Mush's eyes widened in shock as I pushed him into a chair and tossed a blanket on his lap. He looked from me, to Annie, then back to me before realizing what I was doing.

            Annie finally broke the silence as I checked up on Skittery, making sure his fever hadn't grown worse. "My God, you're skinny. When was the last time you ate something, boy?"

            "Um…I haven't eaten since Tuesday, ma'am…" he said sheepishly, his eyes glued to the floor. Annie's mouth dropped open, and I suspect mine did as well. He'd been two days without eating while still working all day? It was a wonder he was still on his feet!

            "I will be right back with some hot chocolate and soup. You make yourself comfortable."

            She left the room, and all was silent for a few moments before Mush looked up at me and spoke. "That's real cheap, ya know?"

            "What is?"

            "You aren't gonna tell her about Blake, are you? You're gonna leave her thinking she had a perfect son who _just happened _to get caught outside in a snowstorm six miles from home."

            I gently checked the bandage on Skittery's face, and then put a damp cloth on his forehead. "It isn't any of your business what I tell my wife. You're lucky I didn't tell her, because then you'd definitely be kicked out. As soon as I can get you out of here, you're leaving and taking him with you."

            "Fair enough. I know when I'm not welcome."

AN: Next chapter…Annie just might find out. But what does she know about the situation that even Terrence didn't?


	7. Truth

AN: Okay people, if you have any suggestions, I'll be happy to take a look and see what'll work. Just keep reading and reviewing!

            "Two days without food, huh?"

            Mush looked up from his soup as I broke the long, uncomfortable silence. He shrugged, obviously not thinking it was that big of a deal. "Happens sometimes. Bad selling days." He said quietly.

            I nodded, even though there was no way I could understand being that poor. I watched as he ate the soup in the space of about a minute or so, as if it would've disappeared if he didn't eat it fast enough. Annie poked her head in the room, looking a bit disheveled.

            "Mush, there's a bowl of soup on the stove ready to be heated for Skittery when he wakes up. Just tell Joseph and he'll show you how to use the stove." Mush nodded, with a barely audible 'yes ma'am'. Annie's tone got more serious when she looked at me. "I need to talk to you, Terrence. Could you come in here, please?"

            I nodded, standing up and walking out slowly. I closed the door behind me, and then turned to face my confused and concerned wife.

            "You were going to make that boy walk home in this weather, wearing no kind of protection and carrying a newsboy that probably weighs close to what he does."

            It wasn't a question; it was a statement of fact. I nodded, swallowing hard as my lack of judgment was laid out right in front of me. 

            "I want to know why, Terrence. That isn't like you at all."

            "I can't tell you that."

            "Why? Does it have something to do with Blake?"

            My breath caught in my throat. "What makes you think that?"

            She laughed, a breathy sound that barely caught my ear. "You never knew, did you? He was making friends with some of the 'lower class' boys before he died. I should've guessed they'd been newsies. They were over at least three or four times, but you were always off at work."

            "He never told me? He never even thought about introducing me?"

            "He was afraid you wouldn't approve."

            "So why didn't you tell me that when I brought Skittery here? He was one of those 'friends', wasn't he?"

            "That was over a year ago now, and I never actually talked with the boys. I wouldn't remember them now if I were paid to." She leaned against the counter, wiping her brow with the back of her hand. "I knew something fishy was going on here. What else aren't you telling me?"

            "Annie, I-"

            "No, I don't want more of your bull shit comforting, Terrence!" she shouted, and I fell silent, waiting for her to speak again. "I want the truth. I want the whole, entire truth, uncut and unedited."

            I took a few shaky breaths before deciding that I wasn't going to win this fight. "Fine. You want the truth? Go and talk to Mush. He'll tell you the whole thing. But I'm not going to be responsible for making you cry again. He's dead, and we need to accept it and move on." I snapped, starting to head for the door.

            I stalked upstairs and fell asleep on top of the covers, not caring about even changing into pajamas.

            It was about 1am when I woke up and couldn't fall back asleep. Annie was sleeping beside me, and even in the dim light I could see that her face was stained with tears. I knew she wouldn't be able to handle hearing all that in one night.

            I decided to go downstairs and check on the boys. It was a funny thought- I hadn't had to go downstairs to check on anyone since Blake died. I took the stairs slowly, trying not to make any creaking sounds so as not to wake them if they were asleep.

            The light was still on in the sitting room, and I made my way over to the sofa. I noticed an empty bowl on the table- Skittery must have waken up and eaten sometime during the night. Mush had fallen asleep sitting up in the chair beside the sofa- I wondered if he'd been trying to stay awake to watch over his friend.

            An overwhelming wave of an emotion I hadn't felt for a long time washed over me- father instinct. Mush was once again shivering horribly, and I let my father instincts take over. I made my way to the door on the opposite side of the sitting room- the one that led to Blake's old room. 

            Nothing had been moved in there. Annie even washed the bed sheets regularly, as if she expected him to come home for a visit. I pulled down the bed sheets, and then left the door open as I walked back into the sitting room. 

            Gently, trying not to wake him, I reached under Mush and lifted him up into my arms, letting the blanket fall. I was appalled by the light weight of the boy, just as I had been with Skittery only the day before. I took him into Blake's room, laying him down on the bed and pulling the covers up over him.

            I was about to walk out when I heard a strange mumbling behind me. I turned around and listened hard, trying to make out what the boy was saying.

            "No, Dad…don't hurt her…Daddy, no…please…"

            My eyes welled up with tears as I made my way back to the bed and sat on the edge of it, gently stroking the boy's cheek. After a minute or so he calmed down, and I left the room, shutting the door all but a crack on my way out. I was troubled by what I'd heard him say…what kind of father could beat his wife, and quite possibly his child as well?

            I sat down in the chair beside the sofa, and then another memory from the lodging house came upon me. I reached down and carefully grasped Skittery's right arm, searching for any scars. None were there, and I moved to his left arm.

            There, along the bicep of his left arm, was a scar at least five inches long, definitely made by a type of dagger.

            I fell asleep in tears.

            I awakened to find Skittery sitting up and gingerly trying to remove the bandage on his face, grimacing with each tug or pull. He hadn't noticed that I was awake, and was cursing profusely under his breath.

            "You shouldn't take that off. It's helping you heal."

            He jumped about a foot off the sofa with a yelp, and shot an angry look in my direction. "Yeah, well, it itches!"

            "It will. But you can't do anything about it. Let me go get some alcohol and we'll rebandage it." 

            I stood up and stretched, then walked to a desk across the room, picking up the alcohol, a rag, and new bandages.

            "Did you sleep well, Skittery?"

            He looked at me as though it were a trick question. "Yeah, pretty good. Um…where's Mush?"

            "In Blake's room, still asleep, I presume. He stayed up pretty late watching out for you."

            "I told him not ta do that…"

            I sat down beside him, pouring some alcohol onto the rag. "This is going to hurt, but just hold still." I reached up and took hold of his chin with one hand to make sure he didn't move, and his whole body stiffened and jerked away when I did that. I looked up in confusion, and he blushed with embarrassment.

            "Sorry…just don't grab me like dat without warnin me…"

            "I'm sorry. Note taken."

            I took his chin in my hand gentler this time, and he still stiffened, but didn't pull away. I took off the old bandage and went to work cleaning the wound, noticing his complete silence. He wouldn't have shown that it hurt unless I poured the whole bottle on his face. He did curse a few times though, muttering an apology after each time.

            "You expected me to hit you, didn't you?" I asked, carefully searching his face for any kind of emotion. Not a single clear emotion crossed his face.

            "Wit all due respect, dat ain't none of your business."

            "I understand." I said, and then I stood up and stretched once again. "I'm going to make breakfast and wake up your friend."

            He nodded, pressing his fingers to his temples as he lay back down. He was still running a fever, and that worried me. There was still a chance he could take a turn for the worst. At least Mush had obviously explained everything to him last night and he wasn't scared to death of me.

            I slipped into Blake's room, where Mush slept fitfully. A shiny layer of sweat covered his skin, and he tossed and turned as though he were in the throes of death. I jogged over to the bed and carefully pinned his wrists above his head, trying to calm him down by speaking to him softly. 

            He struggled against me fiercely, and after a few moments I let go and he shot upright and awakened with a scream of terror. He sat for a moment, breathing erratic, and eyes glazed over with fear and realization.

            "Are you alright?" I asked, and for the first time he noticed me standing there, and he swallowed hard. 

            "I'm fine. Just a nightmare." He said with a weak smile, but he obviously wasn't fine just yet. I sat down beside him and put an arm around his shoulders as he shook not from being cold, but with fear.

            "I always wondered if it was something about this room." I said, almost in a whisper.

            "What?"

            "Blake used to have nightmares a lot, too. When guests used this room and Blake slept on the couch, _he'd _sleep fine and _they _would have nightmares. Annie and I used to laugh about it. Called it the 'dream room'. Not after he died, though. Because then it really was."

            "I…I'm sorry…" 

            "It isn't your fault. It's mine. I should've thought of that before putting you in here."

            He was silent, probably unsure of what to say in response to a desperate father's ramblings. I laughed quietly and gave him a quick hug, probably scaring him to death in the process. I decided to get things a little more back to normal. 

            "Want some breakfast?"

            __


	8. Choices

AN: I know, the last chappy was kinda a boring one. Things will pick up in this one- Blink enters to feed the storyline!

            Halfway through breakfast, which we were all having out in the sitting room, there was a knock on the door. Joseph sprang up and opened the door, and I could immediately tell who was there by the look of utter disgust on Joseph's face. He was certainly not good at hiding his emotions.

            "Let him in, Joseph. And wipe that stupid look off your face. " I ordered.

            "Yes sir." He said, and then turned back to our visitor and said, "Right this way, sir. In the sitting room."

            Blink walked in, one newspaper tucked under his arm and a smirk on his face. He took a careful look at everyone in the room before speaking. "Check out the headline, guys. We ain't missin much today!" he said brightly, throwing the paper down on the table. The headline read: **Three Cows Loose In Downtown Cause Panic**.

            Both Skittery and Mush burst out laughing, even though it caused Skittery a lot of pain to do so. Blink's look changed from humor to concern in an instant. "Skittery, bein' sick don't give ya busted ribs. What happened?"

            "He got beatup." Mush said nonchalantly, flipping through the rest of the paper. Skittery sent him a death glare, but to no avail.

            "Oh really? By who? I'll take care of 'em. I'll bust 'em up so bad dey won't nevah have chil-"

            "There's a lady present!" Mush hissed, and Blinks hat came off his head in an instant. 

            "I'm sorry ma'am. I don't mean ta offend no one." He said, offering her his hand.

            She took his hand in a warm handshake. "None taken. In fact, I was rather amused. What might your name be?"

            "I's Kid Blink. Usually just Blink."

            "Alright then. Why don't you sit down there on the sofa and I'll bring you out some bacon and eggs?"

            "Oh, I couldn't have ya-" 

            "I insist!"

            He smiled broadly, taking a seat beside Skittery. "Well, if da lady insists…"

            Annie left the room, and I took the opportunity. "I have a request of you boys."

            They all glanced from one to the other, Skittery and Mush sending glances of 'he's cool' to Blink, who immediately relaxed a bit more and leaned back. "What is it?" Mush asked.

            "I want you to tell me about my son. No sugar coating. I want to know who he was."

            The room went from slightly cheerful to downright uncomfortable and stiff in about half a second. Blink cleared his throat, and both Mush and Blink looked at Skittery, who thought hard for a moment.

            "Blake was somethin' else. Could've been an amazing newsie if he'd given it a shot. He was a real nice kid."

            "That's not what I asked for." I snapped, and all three newsies jumped in surprise at my anger. I realized that I was scaring them, and immediately took a few deep breaths. "I want to know about _him_. The boy who was really my son, not the son I fabricated and thought was perfect. I want to hear about him _as you knew him_."

            And that's how I got to know my son. Not by sitting down and speaking with him about his feelings, not by reading professors comments about him on yearly reports, not by sharing stories on the holidays. I was just sitting in my home with three newsies whom I hadn't met before yesterday, trying to make sense of their slang while at the same time appalled by everything I didn't know.

            For example, I never knew he was a prankster. I had no idea he would slip out of the house in the middle of the night, carry a bucket of ice water to the lodging house, and dump it on an unfortunate newsie who'd angered him that day.

            Another thing- he was a gambler. I had absolutely no idea that he took his allowance money to the lodging house and gambled it away with the boy called Racetrack right at his side. And I certainly didn't know he lost on purpose because he knew the newsies he was playing against needed the money more than he did, and would never take it as charity. 

            I didn't know that he would spend countless days out with the newsboys, helping them sell their papers.

            One of the bigger shocks: the nights that he said he couldn't sleep in his room because he'd painted the ceiling and it smelled bad, that wasn't the case at all. I should've known that was a lie. The truth was that Racetrack had fallen ill and had been planning on sleeping in the alley outside the lodging house so as not to get the other boys sick. Blake wouldn't hear a single word of that- he snuck Racetrack in and spent three days nursing him back to health in his own bed.

            That was the son I never knew. That was the son whose death I caused by never actually caring to know him. As the memories spilled out, the grief within me rose. If only I'd have noticed. I should've done something, anything.

            But it was too late now. And nothing could be done.

            Over the next few days Skittery slowly gained strength, much faster than anyone thought he would. He was restless and would ask at least three or four times a day to go outside and walk around, and a fellow newsie would always be there at his side, ready to hold him up when he needed it. 

            Jack also fond out through the 'gossip chain' that the 'Delancey brothers' had been bragging a lot lately. Mostly about the fact that they'd soaked a newsboy pretty bad. Let's just say that they'll be working with bruises, cuts, and a limp for the next few weeks.

            I began to grow fond of the boys, and each one was…well, like a son to me. Skittery and Mush most of all. I saw Mush as the son I had, the front that I always knew and loved. I saw Skittery as the other side of him, the side that I never knew but could've loved if I had. I know, it sounds crazy, but it made perfect sense to me.

            By the time Skittery had enough strength to go back to the lodging house and start selling again, I was feeling the pain of losing my son all over again. On the morning that he planned to leave, Annie and I sat him down and forced Joseph to leave the room- he would have a fit if he knew what we were about to do.

            "Skittery…we've been thinking a lot about this situation, and Annie and I have been talking for a while about this." I started, wringing my hands nervously.

            "About what?" 

            He was completely oblivious, I could tell. He didn't have a clue as to what we were getting at. Annie smiled and took over. "We know you want to go back to your friends and get back to selling papers. But we feel…we feel that this isn't going to be a life fit for such an intelligent boy as you are. And, well…we wanted you to stay here."

            Skittery's face paled by about ten shades. "What?"

            "We want you to stay here. We want to send you to school, give you three meals a day, get you into college. Help you live a better life." I added.

            "In other words…a replacement for Blake."

            Annie grabbed his hands in-between hers, and he stiffened, but didn't pull away for once. "No one can replace Blake. We understand that. We just…we've come to love you, Skittery. And we want the best for you." 

            His demeanor suddenly changed to completely untrusting. "No one's evah loved me. And no one evah will. Love's a lie." He snapped, choking back a sob.

            "No, it's not. _We love you, Skittery._ We want you to stay and learn how to love us."

            Skittery looked from me, to Annie, and back to me, anger transforming into panic. With a strangled cry he ripped his hands away from her and ran into the kitchen, slamming the door behind him. I slowly got up, gave Annie a small smile, and whispered, "Let me handle this."

            She nodded and I walked to the kitchen door, gently tapping on it. "Skittery…can I come in?"

            A moment passed. "You can do whatevah you want. It's your house." He snapped, and I opened the door and stepped inside, shutting it quietly. He was sitting on the floor and leaning against the counter. I kneeled down in front of him, searching his eyes.

            "We meant it, Skittery. Every word."

            "I know."

            "Then why won't you trust us?"

            "Because."

            I sighed deeply. "That isn't good enough. You're going to have to come up with something better than that."

            His eyes shifted, and he actually made eye contact with me, something he rarely did. I could see tears glistening in his eyes. "Da first people who loved me were my family. Dey killed each other, even tried to kill me. Since when was dat love?" He took another deep breath before continuing. "My foster parents would love me a little while, then turn me back in. Da only people who've evah _really_ loved me are da newsies. We're like a family. And ya don't walk out on family."

            "You're right. You don't walk out on family. But family members want the best for each other. And the other newsies would want you to do this, to seize this opportunity. Wouldn't they?"

            He smiled, very shakily. "Ya, but since when did I evah listen to them?"

            We fell silent, and remained so for about a minute. I slowly reached forward and brushed his hair out of his face. "You know what, Skittery? Whatever you choose is fine with me. I just want you to be happy, that's all. This is your decision."

            With that, we both stood up and began heading for the door. Suddenly he stopped me, a crooked smile on his face. 

            "Blake loved you, ya know? He really did. And I can see why. He woulda been real proud of you just now."

            Ignoring his aversion to physical contact, I pulled him into a hug, wrapping my arms tightly around him and letting the tears come. And ever so slowly, I felt the tension release from his body. And the sweetest moment of my life came when he actually hugged me back.


	9. Understanding

AN: Time for the end, people! Ah, the wonderful feeling of being done…anyways, just enjoy the ending! R+r!

            Another cold December morning. I step outside my door and begin my daily walk at a brisk pace. And when I get to the corner, he's there, just like every morning…except for those few mornings when he was my son. Those few, precious mornings.

            "Good morning, Mr. Thurston."

            "Good morning. One paper, please."

            "Of course, sir. That'll be a penny."

            I fished through my wallet, and then I pulled out a nickel and pressed it into his ink-stained hand, taking the paper and smiling. "Keep the change, Skittery. You'll need it."

            "Thanks."

            I began to walk away, and then stopped and turned around. "It's Christmas Eve tomorrow. What are your plans?"

            "Just celebrating with the newsies, sir. We do every year."

            "How about celebrating someplace warm for once, with a real Christmas tree?"

            He sold another paper and then turned to me, confusion lacing his features. "Whadda ya mean?"

            "Bring the newsies to my place tomorrow. We'll celebrate there."

            "All of 'em?!"

            "Every single one. We'll have the Christmas party that Blake never got."

            Skittery smiled. "As long as you know what you're getting into."

            "Oh, believe me, I know."

            "Okay then…we'll do that. Thanks."

            I turned and continued walking, hearing him continue to shout the headlines- half of them exaggerated, the other half fake. I smiled and shoved my hands deep into my pockets, nodding in acknowledgment at Mush, who was selling on the next corner down the street. He laughed when I gave him a nickel and took a paper even though I obviously already had one. Then I moved on to Central Park, walking slowly now and taking in the sights.

            _Blake loved you, ya know. He really did. And I can see why. He woulda been real proud of you just now._

            It had taken me a long time to realize it, and it had taken a newsie's shattered and yet pure heart to tell me, but I finally knew. I finally understood. And that's all that matters, when you get right down to it.

AN: The End! Sob! Alright, you've read it, now review it! Skitts and Mush are beggin ya, please review or I will die of feelin' unloved!

Hope you guys enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!


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